


Articulation

by callay



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Robot/Human Relationships, Smut, Thoughts About Robot Phonetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10476516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: He twists his hand in Teddy’s hair and pulls it, hard enough that Teddy cries out, a brief but complex sound, a jagged range of pitches collapsed into a fraction of a second.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written after episode 9 while thinking about William and also how robots talk.

The man dressed in black leans back against the tree. The sun is bright today and he tips his hat down, letting the dark brim shade his eyes.

“Can you make a little noise for me, Teddy?”

Teddy trembles under the man’s hand. “All right,” he says, breath warm against the man’s skin, and when he leans in again and takes him into his mouth, he does it with a little moan, something low and hungry that’s only stoppered up when the man’s cock hits the back of his throat.

The man in black closes his eyes. The noises they make are the best part, he’s found. Inside their plastic skin, the hosts have working lungs, larynxes that catch up their breath, vocal cords that vibrate like hummingbirds in their throats. Lips and tongues that press and curl. Their voices sound real because they are real, a stream of air manipulated just as it was when mankind planned its first spear-hunt – so easily made hoarse, or forced into a cry, so easily interrupted by the muting presence of a cock pushing into their throat.

There’s a rhythm to it that appeals: the little hungry groan, the wet stop, the gasp of breath as Teddy pulls back again. The man in black lets it wash over him like a current. Hearing Teddy is more effective than only feeling him, although he can’t complain about that either, the sweet wet warmth, friction and suction, the curl of Teddy’s tongue marginally too desperate to be called practiced. It’s all perfect, down to a science, even the overeagerness, the stutters in the rhythm.

In another life, there was a night on a train when the man thought he had found his soulmate. He must have, or else how could it be so perfect, the way she trembled at his touch, the arch of her back, the slick hot feeling of her. She was an untouched farmer’s daughter, sweet and sober, and when he kissed her, she forgot it all to drag him close, pull off his clothes, give herself to him.

Later, he knew she’d have given herself to anyone who kissed her. After all, the hero always gets the girl. The hero gets whatever he wants – all he has to do is ask for it.

There are patterns to it, he has found. Approach them with affection and they’ll melt; with violence and they’ll struggle; with money and they’ll perform. It grew tedious long ago.

Still. He’s only human. Since being brought back from the brink of death, Teddy keeps giving him these wary, grateful glances. And Teddy’s handsome and definitely his type, dark-haired and pink-lipped, even growing a rakish hint of stubble on the road. Yes, the man in black feels his breath come faster, looking down at Teddy – his tightly-closed eyes and flushed cheeks –

He twists his hand in Teddy’s hair and pulls it, hard enough that Teddy cries out, a brief but complex sound, a jagged range of pitches collapsed into a fraction of a second. Something chaotic and unreproducible. The man closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him like a rush of heat.

Because there was a moment on the teetering brink between lives, when a boy with dark hair sucked his cock with blood on his hands and whiskey in his mouth, his eyes closed, his cheeks pink in the light of the campfire. And he sounded just like this, raw and hungry, a helpless sound that vibrated out of him when his hair was pulled. A sound that, if you extrapolated from the incomplete push and curl of his tongue, could have been “William.”

**Author's Note:**

> Four months after I said I'd write more Westworld fic, I'm finally going back and looking through the stuff I was working on. A longer William/Logan fic to come soonish.


End file.
